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Her smile broadens. “Okay.”
As soon as the door shuts behind her, I punch the air in excitement. I really thought I had lost her, and now that I know I might still have her, I am never letting her out of my sight again.
I will not lose her again.
The ride back to my apartment is something I never thought I would ever have. Our conversations flow effortlessly, creating an air of excitement and anticipation for the night ahead. I sit attentively next to her on the passenger’s seat as the driver takes us home, staring at her animated expressions as she speaks.
I nod along, encouraging her to share as I am genuinely interested in her thoughts and stories. Her voice fills the car,weaving tales and anecdotes that illuminate her passions and experiences.
I find myself entranced, not just by the sound of her voice, but by the depth of her thoughts and the fervor with which she expresses them.
Carissa has always come off as the listener, so listening to her talk makes me feel as though she now trusts me enough to let go and be vulnerable. I try not to interrupt her but still manage to engage actively in the conversation by asking thoughtful questions that encourage her to share and nod occasionally.
I reach to move a strand of hair away from her face, tucking it safely behind her ears. She pauses for a brief moment, rewarding me with an appreciative smile before she continues on her rampage.
In such a short while, our bond seems to have gotten even stronger as I finally admit that I am completely lost to this woman.
We finally get to the apartment and I set to work immediately after taking off my shoes and shirt, donning an apron as I take out the ingredients for my dish–a savory herb-crusted roasted chicken served with a medley of roasted vegetables and a side of garlic mashed potatoes.
“I cannot believe you can cook. I don't want to believe it.” Carissa laughs as she pours herself a glass of wine, kicking off her stilettos.
“After a taste of my skills, you will believe it,” I respond as I meticulously season the chicken.
“I thought you’d give yourself some time to cool off from work before hopping in the kitchen,” she says, swirling the glass so that the wine stirs as well.
I massage a blend of fresh herbs and spices into the skin. “I know you’re hungry. And dinner is for seven, so I thought I’d better start now.”
I place the chicken in the oven, filling the kitchen with an irresistible aroma only to turn and find Carissa skillfully chopping the vegetables.
“No, honey,” I interrupt her. “This is my treat. Let me take care of you.”
“But I want to help,” she sulks.
I sigh. “Alright, just with the vegetables, and then you’re done.”
A wide grin spreads across her face as she continues to chop.
I pour myself a glass of wine and take a sip before attending to the potatoes.
“You know, I was quite surprised that Lydia didn't turn me into the talk of the office after finding us like that the other day.”
I take a quick glimpse of her as she works the knife on the vegetables.
“I must admit, I’m just as surprised,” I reply. “But why are you so pressed about the people at work? I’m sure they’d be thrilled.”
“That’s easy for you to say when you are the boss,” she says with raised brows. “You don’t get to hear any sneering comments. They’re all afraid of you, but they’re not scared of me.”
The scent of roasted garlic fills the air as the potatoes begin to boil.
“But you are the boss’ girlfriend, and that automatically sets you apart,” I shrug. “I doubt that anyone would dare try to get on your nerves.”
I quickly check the chicken in the oven.
“I don't remember you asking me to be your girlfriend,” She blushes.
I close the oven and turn to look at her. “You are. Starting today.”
“Well, girlfriend or not, I don't want to be feared,” she says, putting down the knife. “I’d rather be… respected.”
